WednesdayIIII August

Out of the norm.


Flashing fields of Technicolour green.
Grass, sheep, the odd bit of meadow sweet.
Heaven for concrete crushed eyes.

Inky tidemarks in variant greens,
Green stratas as perfect as rippled ice on a Scottish Loch:
In a bloody biro.
Millions in existence but none, not a single extraordinary one, has these.

Hot white seeds in a glass of chilli tea,
Cloves from Zanzibar smelling of Christmas,
Early evening crows hustling for space in the trees,
The extraordinary lives and breathes.